“I may find out when I go West,” said the young reporter. “How did you get the letter?”
“It came to me with much other mail, that had been forwarded from the music hall. That was my last business address. Lorenzo remembered it, brave little chap!”
“And a good thing he did, though I guess if a letter had been marked merely with your name it would have reached you, since you are quite a celebrity since this—this happened.”
“Yes, unfortunately. Oh, but if I can get Lorenzo back, I will never let him out of my sight again!”
Once more Larry read the letter and looked at the envelope. He could see, in fancy, what had happened. The stolen boy, in his lonely room, a captive, had managed to get hold of a stump of pencil and a scrap of paper. Then he had written his tearful message, and dropped it out of a window, hoping against hope he must have been that it would be picked up and mailed.
“And I wonder where he is now?” thought Larry. “Have they kept him in Detroit, or have they crossed the lakes, and gone into Canada with him? Oh, if I could only locate and rescue him!”
“You say you will go West?” asked Madame Androletti eagerly.
“At once!” exclaimed Larry. “I’ll leave for Detroit to-night, and I’ll do all I can to find your son, and the men who have him.”
“Never mind those men! Get me back Lorenzo!” she pleaded.
Larry began to make hasty plans. First of all he must telephone in the story. This he did from a ’phone in the room of the singer, describing the letter, and dictating it over the wire.